


One of Those Days

by Agoodcaptain



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Celebrations, Headingley, M/M, Miracles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23253097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agoodcaptain/pseuds/Agoodcaptain
Summary: AKA The Miracle at HeadingleyThe celebrations after Ben Stokes' miracle innings. Basically Jos and Joe getting nervous, giddy, domestic, horny, jealous and cutesy, in that order.
Relationships: Jos Buttler/Joe Root
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	One of Those Days

Jos was genuinely afraid his legs might buckle when he eventually got up, but there was no way he was moving, or uncrossing his legs, even breathing was dangerous at this point. Since he had lost his own wicket, and kicked a few things around the changing room for good measure, he had sit down to quietly seethe on his own in the corner, and it soon became apparent that he could not leave. 

From where he was, he had a poor view of the pitch, he could kind of see the TV turned into the coverage but his best option was to crick his neck to see over Jason’s head and onto the square. If all went well, he’d have a sore head to go along with his sore neck tomorrow but he wasn’t going to think about that, instead he counted out he deliveries in each over with taps on the bench beneath him, and chewed on a cupful of ice, as was his nervous habit. All he wanted to do was sit next to Joe, to put a seemingly platonic hand on his shoulder, to line their legs up together the way they do on flights, on bus rides, and at team meetings, anywhere they could get away with manspreading to the point of contact. But moving during a fragile part of the game is up there with the worst crimes in cricket; though the dad dance moves Joe Denly had pulled out in the bar the other week, and the smells that Rory Burns had emitted when planking next to Jos in the gym surely had to be up there. 

Joe set his jaw, trying to focus on Ben and Jack; except like Ben he couldn’t really watch Jack. But all Joe could hear was Jos tapping out each ball on the changing room bench and crunching on ice. The sounds weren’t even that loud and no one else on the balcony seemed to be bothered about it, but Jos’ anxious tics were among Joe’s specialist subjects. In fact if he was to go on Mastermind, he would have to pick either Sheffield United in the Twentieth Century, The Life and Career of Brian Charles Lara or the Everyday Existence of Jos Buttler. Still, having his mind occupied by the tapping and crunching was certainly better than Joe’s internal monologue of self-castigation and general panicking alternately about press reaction, ECB crisis meetings, and his parents’ studied concern lest they show their disappointment if he were to lose a home Ashes series today. 

He tried to focus on a singular voice, someone he often went back to at a time of difficulty: Alastair. Joe had always gone to Ali for advice before and after he handed his captaincy down to him, even after Ali retired. There would always be things he couldn’t tell anyone but Jos; whispered secrets into pillow and skin, but Ali had been there for Joe from the start with no agenda and no judgment, especially helpful when the advice required was how does a hypothetical one not embarrass oneself in front of the teammate one is hypothetically in love with. Lately however, they’d drifted slightly, not in a bad way necessarily but they both been busy, Joe with the World Cup and then the Ashes, Ali with media stuff. But as Joe tried to focus on Ali’s calm voice of reason, he kept getting it confused with snippets of Ali he’d caught on TMS. As soon as he brought to mind Ali intoning “Relax Joe, just think about what’s in front of you,” a sound bite of “Joe must be feeling the pressure” would float in and drown out the affirmation. 

He shook his head to get rid of the battling voices, then when that didn’t work, he swatted in the air as if attacking a non-existent fly. Not for the first time in his career, his coach gave him a sideways look and turned away. “You okay, Joe?” Chris Woakes whispered from Joe’s right elbow, eager not to disturb the fragile magic that was keeping this match alive, and Joe was able to assert some sort of hold on reality, ”No,” Joe replied, his customary cheeky grin now apparent, “are you?” and Woaksey returned the smile. 

But their faces dropped as they turned back to the match and watched Jack sprinting back towards the stumps and the ball racing there very much ahead of him. Joe couldn’t help himself mutter “Jack,” with a tut on a sharp intake of breath in a way that reminded him rather unfortunately of his father. What was Leachy thinking? Why didn’t he run faster? Why wasn’t the distance between the stumps shorter than 22 yards? Why- Oh my god, he’s dropped it. Nathan Lyon has dropped the catch and missed the run-out. Thank you, Cricketing Gods, thank you all Gods, real or imaginary. Joe and Chris looked at each other, half-laughed in relief but stopping short of actually releasing their breath. It was just as well, as the next ball that came down the wicket, maybe the touch of anger had focused Lyon, tricked Ben who missed a sweep shot and it went thud into the pads. Joe closed his eyes as if that would drown out the noise of the appeal, the disappointed “ooh” from the crowd. But the guttural Aussie yell died in the air and Joe opened his eyes to catch a glimpse of Joel Wilson shaking his head. They don’t have any more reviews, right? Joe knew this, but he needed some kind of confirmation, and it took him a second to realise he could just read the screen. Jesus. 

Looking out on the pitch, only Ben seemed to not be shocked, and Ben wasn’t that good an actor, there was a reason they called him Ronseal in the dressing room; what you saw was what you got with him. The stubborn idiot really believed he wasn’t out. The balcony allowed themselves a small laugh of relief. Joe turned to look at Jos, almost automatically, and Jos took his hands off the bench and slowly formed an “o” with each, the gesture was small and made as if in passing but Joe caught it, he smiled and turned back for the next over. 

Jos couldn’t decide if he’d jinxed things by making the sign to Joe, or if he’d imbued the day with a special power that only he and Joe knew about, some of their magic. One of those days, Jos thought to himself but didn’t dare say it out loud, not even as a whisper but the thought alone made him smile, he couldn’t help it. One more run and it’s level, two more and they win. And it’s still up for grabs. The heady dance of the summer can go on. But Jack was on strike now, and god bless that man, but maybe the lights were about to go on at the disco. He got 92 a month ago, Jos reminded himself, better than you’ve done in a while, his snide inner voice added. But Jos was able to quiet it; he wasn’t always able to, and without Joe whispering comfort and kissing his neck from behind, it wasn’t as easy but the game was something immediate to focus on and Cummins was starting to run in. 

Bouncer. Joe flinched as if it was headed for him. Jos noticed and bit his lip. Next ball came fast but not as high and Jack managed to inelegantly spoon it away. No run there. Don’t you dare fucking move, Jack. Another one into his body and he hits it again, not much more definitively but better positioned, or at least it evades Head at short leg. Go Jack, just fucking go. And they do, it’s not the easiest run they’ll ever make but they’re through. Patty Cummins takes an extra moment at the top of his mark, adjusting to Stokes facing, preparing. But it doesn’t help; it doesn’t count for anything. Not when Ben is in this mood, not on one of those days. Ben cuts it and before it’s even across the boundary, Ben has his arms wide open waiting for the adoration, of Jack who jumps into his arms, of the crowd who react just a second later and of the whole England balcony that explodes with joy. There’s one big messy bouncing mob and then individual hugs while they shake their heads mystified. Jos wraps his arms around Joe’s waist, puts a hand in his hair as he holds on, only for a second, and then they’re outside to greet Jack and Ben with a hero’s welcome as they bounded up the steps.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

The transition back to Joe’s house came naturally, Joe can’t even remember if he suggested it or just agreed to the arrangement. After pizza and beer in the dressing room while crowding around the tiny TV watching highlights, and then Jack re-enacting his heroic single in the middle, there was a lingering sense that no one really wanted to leave so a plan to meet at Joe’s house in an hour was gradually formed. With this in place, the team were more willing to head back to the hotel for showering and much needed change of clothes, whether they had exerted themselves in their whites, or nervous-sweated into their tracksuit on the balcony. 

Jos and Joe decided to leave Joe’s car at the ground, they could come get it tomorrow; it was only ten minutes to Joe’s place but with the beer, euphoria and downright giddiness, it wasn’t a good idea. They called an Uber, and sat in the back, giggling and jostling each other, breaking all their normal rules of public physical contact. Given what had just happened on the field, and the reverberations around the country this no doubt caused, this wasn’t the most sensible mood but their driver gave no indication of interest in or recognition of either the two of them or basic driving safety but he got them there in six minutes, and today, that was all they wanted – five fucking stars.

Joe let them in and Jos went straight to the fridge to get them beers, already feeling at home after their week together there. It had been nice, playing house, as if in the middle of this crazy, high-pressure series, they finally got to be a normal couple, whatever the hell that meant. Jos and Joe cheersed, and gulped down a healthy amount of Peroni before Jos put his bottle down on the kitchen island, pushed Joe up against the counter and kissed him hard. Joe grinned into it, wrapping his arms around Jos’ neck, bottle still in hand. Jos used strong arms to hoist Joe up and then leaned his body into Joe’s legs, skillfully avoiding knocking his bottle over, just. 

Joe let the tension of the whole day fall off as he gave in wholly to the sensation of Jos’ tongue in his mouth, his strong torso pressing up against Joe’s own skinny chest and Jos’ hands running up his thighs. He was so in tune with these sensations that even with eyes closed, he noticed when one of Jos’ hands moved from his leg, he felt the angle of Jos’ head slightly tilt and sensed his tongue momentarily pause in its explorations.  
“Hang on, did you just check your watch?” Joe asked, with his eyes still shut.  
“How did you-?  
“Jos,” Joe warned, although outside of his official duties Joe always felt faintly ridiculous pretending to have any authority over Jos.  
Jos sighed, caught out, “Sorry, babe, it’s just we’ve got the lads coming round soon.”  
Joe grinned at Jos’ use of “we” but Jos hadn’t even caught it, it just came naturally, and he continued, “I didn’t want them to walk in on us mid-thrust.”  
“Mid-?” Joe almost choked on his swig of beer, “I told you before, these counters are brand new, no one’s bare arse is going anywhere near them.”  
“I’ll tell everyone that on the way in, shall I?” Jos teased, and Joe rolled his eyes in return, another utter failure of an attempt at being stern. 

“We’ve got a while yet,” Joe whimpered although he had no idea of the time, and when Jos gestured at his watch, Joe screwed up his face in annoyance but couldn’t deny that Jos was right, the team were due in twenty minutes and they should probably shower and make the house and themselves vaguely presentable. Joe wasn’t exactly planning on putting out bowls of crisps and dip but maybe get out the speakers, shove some more beer and champagne in the fridge and run some a lot of gel through his hair. Still, he didn’t want to waste any alone time with Jos when they’d have a whole evening of being around their teammates, pretending they’d never come into intimate contact with each other’s genitals. As Jos kicked his kitbag into a cupboard and began to head upstairs, already removing his shirt for the shower, Joe bounded behind his boyfriend, wrapped arms around his neck and whispered, “Want to help me save on my water bill?”  
Jos didn’t say anything but grabbed Joe’s hand to show his compliance and the two headed for the bathroom, undressing as they went.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Whether it was the giddiness of victory, the fact that their summer could go on counting for something, or just pure relief, Jos and Joe were grabbing greedily at each other before they even got under the shower’s stream. Once they were under the water, they kissed each other fully, hungrily, as if starved of each other, as if they hadn’t spent glorious months together, as if the last week of dizzy domestic bliss hadn’t even happened. 

Jos pushed in his tongue to meet Joe’s, relishing the taste of him. He wrapped an arm around Joe’s neck, pulling him in close, deepening their kiss and crashing their bodies together. Joe traced his delicate hands over Jos’ broad chest and down his sides then inward along that delicious triangular slice of muscle towards Jos’ stiff cock. As Joe grabbed it forcefully, Jos purred into Joe’s shoulder, and Joe grinned to himself. He never tired of pleasing Jos; every moan, every time he made Jos’ breath hitch, every desperate, delectable orgasm made Joe’s heart sing. 

Jos clearly felt the same way and deciding it was his turn to please Joe, pushed him hard into the bathroom wall, slid his hands down Joe’s sides and began to sink to his knees in front of him. Joe caught Jos by his arms and hoisted him back to his feet, shaking his head. “No time,” Joe insisted, clearly seeing the need to abandon full sentences in his haste. Jos frowned, almost pouting, “Baby, let me… you can return the favour at a later date.” Joe chuckled; Jos had a way with words even when they were talking dirty, pompous southern git. Jos was about to kneel once again, thinking the matter settled when Joe leaned into him, kissed him fiercely and directed; “I want you inside me now. No arguments.” Jos smirked at Joe’s rare assertiveness, “Yes Skip,” Jos affirmed with a quick salute, using one hand to grab Joe’s head and bring his lips crashing towards his own and the other to firmly grip onto Joe’s backside and pull it closer towards him. Jos worked his fingers into Joe as Joe’s tongue got furiously to work in Jos’ mouth. Joe sucked on Jos’ lower lip and then impatiently bit it when he didn’t think Jos was working fast enough. 

“Alright, alright,” Jos teased, and then answered Joe’s petulant nip by manfully inserting his cock into Joe, causing Joe’s whole body to buck, and his eyes to go wide. Joe regained his composure and reached for Jos’ lips once more, drinking him in as Jos thrust deeply. Joe reached downwards for his own cock but Jos took both Joe’s hands in one of his own and pinned them to the shower wall above his head, though Joe was more than happy to keep them there if that’s what Jos wanted. As Jos leant over Joe, he tenderly reached for Joe’s cock, accompanying rough thrusts with languid strokes, a combination that clearly drove Joe crazy, and drove Jos crazy to watch him. They kept their eyes open and stared at each other, their bright blue eyes’ boring holes. They remained like this, in a moment of pure, intense heat, until Joe came, loud and liberated, and his moment of pleasure sent Jos over the edge too. Exhausted from their efforts, and from the whole day, they quickly rinsed off and got out of the shower while they could still stand. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Jos and Joe were stumbling out of the bathroom and into Joe’s room with towels round their waists and wolfish grins on their faces when the doorbell rang. Joe threw on some old jeans and a naff t-shirt until Jos groaned and threw him a smarter, long-sleeved number. Joe gave Jos a fierce look, which he took to mean “Come on, it’s August” but Jos gave him a stubborn shrug and Joe finally acquiesced with a mumbled “Okay but only if you wear your white one.” Jos grinned, which meant “Deal.” The doorbell rang again as Joe grabbed his watch, putting it on as he opened the door. “Hold on!” Joe yelled as he started down the hall then turned back, remembering, “Oh fuck, I haven’t done my hair.” Jos cringed; he was hoping Joe hadn’t noticed that part. “Go.” Jos instructed, hoping to mask his desperation for Joe’s hair to remain unkempt with an urgency to answer the door. Joe rushed off, clearly troubled, and Jos suppressed a victory dance. 

Joe answered the door to Ben and Claire, who were carrying a magnum of champagne each. Joe grinned while he gave Ben a bear hug and Claire a kiss on both cheeks, “I didn’t expect you guys first, I thought you’d be… y’know having a private celebration.” Joe had known them both for years and knew he could get away with that sort of comment; Claire was as game for a laugh as her husband, they were well suited that way. Claire grinned, “Joe, we have two kids, we’re pretty efficient at celebrating,” Joe giggled and Ben raised his eyebrows, adding, “Besides, we weren’t first,” indicating behind him with his head as he drifted inside. 

It was only then that Joe saw that Jonny had been sitting on the wall, a sad plastic bag in one hand, and using the other to stroke a rather tubby black cat. “Is this your cat, Rooty?” Jonny asked, his face bright. Joe laughed before realizing that Jonny was being serious. “No, JB, it isn’t. Come in you silly sod,” Jonny happily righted himself, the sound of tinnies crashing together in his bag as he did so.  
“How long have you been here?” Joe asked, slightly afraid of the response.  
“A little while, I did knock.”  
Joe cringed, knowing exactly why they hadn’t noticed, but more worried about what Jonny had heard while he waited. Joe muttered something about music, hoping it sounded plausible. 

“S’orite. Had one of my cans, went for a walk up the road, made a friend,” Jonny said indicating the cat that had now lost interest and had started wandering down the street and Joe had to smile. He clapped Jonny on the back, feeling a rush of good feeling for the batsman as he wandered into his house. As Jonny went into the kitchen to join Ben and Claire who were searching around for glasses, Joe glanced up the stairs where Jos had just appeared, doing up the buttons on a gloriously tight white shirt over his broad chest dusted with golden hair. Jos raised his eyebrows at Joe, a silent communication of “that was close,” - they’d had a few of moments.

Jos trotted past Joe and into the kitchen, plastering a breezy grin onto his face as if he carried no extra weight into the world, when Joe knew that wasn’t true. But for tonight, around their teammates and with something to celebrate, they could somewhat relax; they could never truly be themselves, but they could have a good time. As if to underline the point, the sound of Arctic Monkey’s Mardy Bum came through Joe’s Bluetooth speakers and Joe grinned and made his way to join the group in the kitchen.  
“Do you listen to anything else, Rooty?” Ben teased as Joe picked up a glass from the table and helped himself to champagne but said nothing, and Ben just shook his head at him, “You are such a clichéd Yorkie indie kid.”  
Joe smiled and took the tease; he did love Arctic Monkeys but the reason it appeared on his ‘Most Played’ list was because Jos loved it, and he played it to Joe to cheer him up when captain stress was getting him down, or everything became too much, often accompanying it with a stupid dance. He had done it more than once, and funnily enough, it still worked. Even to the extent that Joe could hear the opening chords of the song and it would make him smile. Joe took another sip of his drink, trying to suppress the blush in his cheeks, glancing out the corner of his eye to Jos who was trying his best to look nonchalant. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t long before Joe’s house was full of the Ashes squad, including the injured players, their significant others and a hanger-on in the form of one Sir Alastair Cook, who arrived with Jimmy, both of their cheek’s flushed like they’d ran there. Joe was much too excited to notice anything, and he quickly pulled Alastair into a hug, before he’d even said hello. Jos glanced over from across the room, instinctively frowning before accidentally catching Jimmy’s eye as he did the same. The two teammates blushed and looked away from each other, and Jos had to feign nonchalance when Joe called him over. Jos and Ali gave each other a stiff double-pat-release embrace, as Joe took in Ali’s hearty congratulations, with Jimmy murmuring something vaguely positive but barely audible. Jimmy had to be gutted about missing out on the series with his injury but he was one of the least vindictive men Jos knew, he was mumbling because that’s what he did. Ali watched with utter bemusement as Jos tried to simultaneously make very obvious possessive movements towards Joe (presumably for Ali’s benefit) while also glancing around and checking no one else at the party noticed. Ali shook his head and employing his own obvious-subtlety, returned Jos’ gaze, touched the small of Jimmy’s back and indicated that they were going to get a drink. 

Jos blinked, unsure how to take in what he had just seen. While he processed this, Joe turned to him with a none-too-impressed expression on his face, “You get so funny around Ali, Jossy. You know we’re just mates, right? That’s all we’ve ever been. And besides-“  
“I know, I know,” Jos sighed, annoyed at himself for being so petty.  
Joe leaned to Jos and murmured; “I’ll show you just how much I belong to you later.”  
Joe’s eyes were glassy, either with emotion or from the alcohol, most likely a mixture of both, and Jos smiled at him as he turned to walk away, and take part in the beer pong game Ben had been wildly gesturing at him to join. Jos’ voice was soft and low when he whispered back, “we belong to each other, babe.”  
Joe smiled, almost sadly now, “One of these days, I’ll tell everyone how we belong together. I promise you that.”

Jos nodded, he knew. And the promise of a brighter, more open future for them both, no matter how vague the vision of it seemed right now, did keep them going. And moments like this that they shared together, when they’d had one of those days, it felt that little bit closer. Right then, Jos wanted to kiss Joe to reassure him of something, he wanted to kiss Joe to reassure himself; he mainly just wanted to kiss Joe. But he settled for holding up two “o”s to him with his hands. Then he smiled and walked away. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

When Jos and Joe eventually got rid of the stragglers (Jonny wasn’t happy until he won a round of beer pong) it was almost getting light outside. They just about managed to brush their teeth before crashing into bed.  
Jos surveyed the messy room with his stuff strewn across it, and smirked, realizing something, “Lucky no one came snooping in here, eh?”  
Joe raised his eyebrows, “Yeah Denners was angling for a tour. He kept saying, “This place is fucking massive, you’re loaded, Skip!”  
Joe had affected a strange voice for his impression of their teammate and it took a second to realize what was happening before laughing uproariously.  
“Oh my god, is that meant to be a Kent accent?”  
Joe blushed, “It was good!”  
Jos tried to stop himself from laughing to mitigate Joe’s embarrassment, “It really wasn’t babe, but bless you.”

Jos’ cheeks, rosied by laughter and beer, looked totally adorable in that moment and trying to change the mood, Joe made a grab for Jos’ hand and pulled him towards him across the bed, “What were you saying earlier about your arse belonging to me?”  
Jos frowned, “I’m not sure that was the exact phrasing. And it was you that said that, idiot.”  
Joe paused, thinking about it, “Maybe you’re right. But still, the gist was…” Joe trailed off and started trailing kisses down Jos’ muscled arms.  
“Joey, I’m too drunk and too tired.”  
Joe groaned half-heartedly and wrapped his arms around Jos from behind and pecked him on his bare shoulder, punctuating this action with “Good.”  
Jos chuckled softly, “’Good’ he says. I didn’t want to have sex with you anyway.”  
“Noooo, Jossy.” Joe moaned, his voice doing a strange high-pitched thing he did when Jos teased him. The fact that Joe only did that with Jos, only felt safe enough with him to be that silly made him feel gold-star special.  
“I just mean…” Joe continued, trying to find his train of thought again, “I’m happy you’re drunk, that you had fun.”  
“Did you?” Jos asked, half-turning to Joe.  
“Yeah.” Joe said, his tone not quite certain.  
Jos, an expert in all matters Joe Root, even while inebriated, sensed something unsure, and turned fully around to Joe, putting a hand to his chest, and looked into his eyes, “Yeah?”  
Joe thought about it for a moment, then more decisively, “Yeah. It was nice to just… be with everyone.  
Joe realized that didn’t quite make sense but before he could open his mouth to clarify Jos quieted him with a kiss, “I know. I understand baby.” Jos pulled away and snuggled up to Joe, already falling asleep.  
Joe planted a kiss on the top of Jos’ sandy hair, causing Jos to squirm contentedly in his half-slumbering state.  
Before the morning light reached the streets of his corner of suburban Leeds, Joe closed his eyes and for the first time in a while, fell straight to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> After my post-old Trafford Test fic, I promised something cheerier and I'm obsessed with writing these two right now so thought I'd post this to cheer us up in troubled times. Enjoy!


End file.
